You've wanted to enumerate
every particle of dust, every layer
of sadness, number every blow delivered
by frustration, every trick to fool the noon
that cut your figure in half in its shadow.
But you can't, so you bring your hand
to your head, discover that in that survey
there's an image of yourself. It surprises you
that in its contours & distance ―barely
in its shadow― you still recognize yourself.
Something stops you now. You said too much
& it got you into trouble. The shadow & old pain
that kept you awake shelter your feelings
of revenge. You can't go forward like you want.
The desert you presume to remember is extensive.